


Slightly Unreasonable

by Tashilover



Category: Sherlock (TV), Slender Man Mythos, Supernatural
Genre: Gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-07-07
Updated: 2011-07-24
Packaged: 2017-10-21 02:59:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/220139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tashilover/pseuds/Tashilover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock, John, Sam and Dean go up against Slender Man.</p><p>(On permanent hiatus)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The police nearly blocked off the entire park. Such a practice was only common if it was a bomb scare, not a murder site. John knew something bad must have happened for Lestrade to act this way.

He held his hand up to halt them from passing the police tape. “I’m just going to warn you once,” he said slowly. “It’s not pretty.”

“Murder never is,” Sherlock automatically retorted. John nearly rolled his eyes because everyone knew the man’s affinity for such crime.

There was a heaviness in Lestrade’s eyes as he let them through the barrier. “I want this guy found as soon as possible,” he said to them.

He guided them wordlessly through the gaggle of trees and bushes. It was still early morning and the smell of water and fog drifted through the air. Wet leaves caught on John’s shoes and the uneasy sound of mud squishing beneath their feet only added to the already grey atmosphere.

When they finally passed through the last portion of trees, John sucked in a breath.

There were four bodies laying neatly on the wet grass. They each laid two feet away from one another, in a straight row. A woman, two men, and a teenager. Every single one of their torsos were opened up, their organs removed, and draped on the trees behind them like a macabre Christmas tree.

“Oh God,” John hissed. He didn’t turn away, though he did raise his hand to his mouth in disgust.

“A homeless man found them,” Lestrade explained to Sherlock. The consulting detective was taking everything in, his eyes darted about wildly, but even he had a moment of hesitation, of shock, before stepping closer. “Their wallets are not missing, we have their I.Ds. No money or credit cards were taken.”

Sherlock seemed to get over his shock rather quickly, as he kneeled in front of the corpses without problem. “John,” he said. “Come over here. What would you say is the cause of death?”

Besides the obvious? John bit his tongue on that statement. He noted the hands and feet of the victims were not bound, nor was there any bruising to indicate they were. He took gloves given to him by Lestrade and began the usual assessment.

No signs of asphyxiation. Mouth and nose clear, eyes perfectly white. When he could find nothing on the shells of the bodies, he got up to look at the organs dangling on the trees.

He nearly flinched when wind passed through, vibrating the intestines like a chime. He took long, careful looks at the hearts, once after another. “Without a proper autopsy, it’s hard to say. But from the looks of it… heart attack, maybe.”

“Heart attack?” Lestrade hissed. “All four of them?”

“They were probably drugged,” Sherlock murmured, still kneeling over the corpses. “There’s no self-defense wounds on their hands or arms. They didn’t fight. But…”

“But what?”

“There are tear tracks on their cheeks. Each of them.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Lestrade hissed, turning away.

John stared between them, a little confused by what Sherlock meant. Then it hit him. “Wait, Sherlock, are you saying they were awake when all of this happened?”


	2. Chapter 2

On some level, it seemed Sherlock knew this was one case he should definitely not show his enthusiasm for. He kept it in check, though John could see his fingers twitching at the prospect of it all.

Jack the Ripper Returns! The papers went mad with the story and some idiot on the Force allowed the pictures of the victims to be leaked on the internet. Now millions of people were speculating of who could’ve done this, why it was done, and how people could prevent from becoming the next victim.

There was no connection between the victims to be found. Different ages, sexes, colored skin and eyes. It seemed they were all at the wrong time, wrong place.

Even worse, the drug tests came back negative.

“Negative?” Sherlock spat. “That’s impossible!”

Molly shrunk under Sherlock’s anger. John had been around Molly enough to know while Sherlock often treated her like a joke, he’d never called her an idiot outright to her face. Her voice squeaked when she spoke. “I ran the tests twice on each victim. There were no signs of drugs in their systems.”

Sherlock snatched the reports out of her hands. He frowned when he read them. “This is impossible,” he snapped them shut and tossed them on the floor in disgust. “They had to be drugged, it’s the only explanation.”

“Why-“ Molly began, but stopped herself. Instead, she whispered to John, “Why does drugs have to be the only explanation?”

John wasn’t sure if telling her the circumstances were appropriate, but she was the coroner. “Because it suggests the victims did this to themselves.”

Oh yeah, telling her was a mistake. Molly paled and for a moment John thought she would be sick. She didn’t, but she didn’t speak again.

“What are you going to tell Lestrade?” John asked as Sherlock paced over the bodies in a manner of a twitchy cat.

“The truth, I suppose,” Sherlock huffed as if telling the truth was distasteful. “Unfortunately I don’t have an alternate version to give him except the victims did it to themselves.”

John shrugged. “Maybe they did.” When Sherlock rounded on him, he quickly added, “Maybe this was a cult killing. You know, like the Jim Jones followers.”

“Look at the victims, John! Cult followers have a distinctive discrimination among them! These four have no commonality! He was Catholic, she was Jewish, the boy was a closet homosexual! Maybe, maybe you can get one or two people to commit suicide this way, but not four! We know there was a fifth person, the one who placed the organs in the tree, but he didn’t tie his victims and now we know he didn’t drug them! How do you convince four random people to eviscerate themselves?”

John’s mind brought up the argument of people who have lit themselves on fire or starved themselves to death. People were willing to die horrific, painful ways if given the right motivation.

But if Sherlock could not see the connection binding the victims together, then there probably wasn’t one.

Sherlock’s phone rang. It’s muffled slightly by being inside his pocket, but in the silence of the morgue it actually echoed. When it rang for the third time and Sherlock made no effort to grab it, John rolled his eyes and reached inside the coat pocket.

John looked at the name. “It’s Lestrade,” he said, holding the phone out. Sherlock didn’t even glance at him.

John sighed and answered the phone. “Hello Lestrade.”

“John?” Lestrade gave a huff. “Doesn’t that man ever answer his own phone? Never mind that, where are you now?”

“Barts’ morgue.”

“Get down here to Lexington as soon as you can. There’s been another murder.”

()

John wasn’t the expert. Hell, he wouldn’t even consider himself a novice. So he wouldn’t know if this was their type of case.

But they told him to call if anything ‘strange’ happened.

John dialed in the numbers. “Hello, Dean?”


End file.
